


Drip Drop

by SlySama



Series: Unfinished Works. [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-14 00:27:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14759166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlySama/pseuds/SlySama





	Drip Drop

Drip 

Drip 

Drip 

These drips were a constant background sound, along with the…

Creeeak 

Creeeak 

Creeak of the bars that were embedded inches within old musty crumbling weather beaten stones that encompassed most of the underground structure, twisting every-time they were pushed against or the barred door was eased or flung open; which admittedly was a lot more than this agonised prisoner would have liked—of course, these weren’t the only sounds that could be heard every minute of every day. 

There were shouts from captors, each in a different mood and numbering in the hundreds. There were the prisoners cries of pain of agonised pain and screams to “STOP!!” being hiccupped as their heads were smashed into the cold brittle sharp edged stone of the cell wall they were confined within…as they were forced to partake in the fantasies of their kidnappers and permanently scarred for life by dirtied hands, evil wands and sharp edged knives. 

There was the…

Jangle 

Jangle 

Jangle of the chains that constrained them and forced them to bow their weary heads, which caused their knees to buckle under the strain and their feet to drag as they twisted in the shackles, as they tried to keep themselves up, as they tried to free themselves from this dreadful unforgettable torture. This particular captive was shackled tightly against the sharp edged stone wall of the cell, wrists bloody from many unsuccessful attempts to free themselves, ankles covered in both dry and fresh blood as the cuffs bit into the soft flesh. For this prisoner everyday life confined within this dungeon was a nightmare, it was torture with numeral personal visits by captors that, to the captive, came so suddenly, so abruptly that, that the fear that already dwelled within their heart spiked and stabbed repeatedly and quickly—their tenuous grip of their own nerves, of their sanity slipped with each cruciatus, each sickening sweep of magic. They tried with every ounce of their being, with just the smallest hope still flickering in their heart, to keep that fragile grasp on sanity that they would be saved from this hell that they had been cast into one day. 

 

‘My turn, my turn!’ The shaking of large metal chains dusted with rust and blood, embedded deep into the stone with large nails and powerful magic was the only thing this prisoner could do as they heard the footsteps, heard the horrible words laughed into the darkness that shrouded their view—from the moment they’d arrived, for thousandth time; with shaking hands, a trembling body, they waited anxiously unable to do anything else but take it, for that jumping merciless evil human being to enter into their bloodied cell. Scrunching hands that were stiff and muddied with dried blood into fists, eyes shut tightly behind a black blindfold magicked into place around their mattered raven hair, teeth clenched and biting into the supple flesh of their already split lips, fear spiked further as a maniacal laugh resounded as the barred door eased open in an eerie fashion, a wet fashion. 

‘It’s my turn, it’s my turn!!’ their voice, hysterical with deranged laughter bounced as they entered into the centre of the cell, jumping excitedly and clapping their hands with joy. 

Sightless and forcefully held up, ears that once had been only semi-abnormal with already bad eyesight and a rather crappy prescription were now the only thing this prisoner had at their disposal, the only thing that could pick up the smallest of movements, the smallest utterances from right down the dungeon hallway. These ears, one brutally pierced 3 times listened now to the steps of the latest torturer coming closer to their semi-clad, bruised and torn body; come the time that this prisoner was saved, if at all, if that hope was founded and granted by fate, it would be hard to return to normal life, they knew this, it would be hard to forget this and to come away unscarred, un-abused and tortured both physically and emotionally. 

‘Going to peel these off, going…too…peel…this…OFF!! Kekeke!!’ barely refraining from flinching while trying to avoid the hands sullied with murder and rape, trying to remain as calm as possible upon hearing these words and laughter; this latest evil peeled away the tatters that remained off this captee’s casual attire, pads of fingers callused skirting across cut flesh that was revealed to their undoubtedly crazed eyes, as slowly as possible. They muttered lowly, no real words because they no longer could make any, under their breaths that were ragged and shaky; teeth dug into the soft torn flesh of their bottom lip in disgust, anger and horror as this follower of evil and hypocrisy pressed a hand to their prey’s crotch; the only other thing this prey could do was swallow thickly around a hand that came up immediately to encircle their throat and squeeze the tender tissue—partially cutting off the air supply, because clearly they’d been told in no uncertain terms that they were not to kill this prisoner; to important, to detrimental in defeating “the light” but by all means break him. 

A slurping noise broke them out of their maudlin thoughts they’d fallen into, head flying up when a second slurping noise and a subsequent harsh wet lick tracking its way up their naked and opened wounded chest, toward the fingers encircling their throat and slowly crushing their windpipe. It was like sandpaper, worse than a cat’s, like jagged stones, sheets of metal, glass making its way upwards, cutting up every bit of skin it was touching and tasting the blood that spilled forth immediately. 

 

‘Hhhk!’ There wasn’t a way to tell with a lack of sight but the with the wetness that lay across his lips and slid downward over the fingers pressed to his windpipe, the tangy rich metallic taste, these things attested he’d probably just coughed up blood. That was a good sign. He shook the metal shackles attached to his wrists and embedded into the wall beside his matted hair and hoped that the crazed Death Eater wasn’t one to be angered by such unconscious acts. 

He was sorely mistaken that this fanatic would, ‘BLOOD, BLOOD, the Prisoner Coughed Up Blood!!’ the maniac laughed, their psychotic voice turning the revelation into a mocking song straight into his ear, a large wet tongue slid up the edge causing shudders of the most mortified, horrified, disgusted, repulsed kind. A harsh pull on the chains from him had the man skirting backwards, skipping across the bloodied stones, laughing all the while. ‘Blood, blood, blood, I like blood.’ Cringing within the confines, hands fisted, this captive shivered at the conspiratorial whisper. This one was insane. There was no way they weren’t. He trembled from head to batted and bruised toes as the crazed man danced backwards and forwards before coming to stand, perfectly still, breaths heavy, exuding “excited” before his “special prey”; he quivered as his lip was taken into the DE’s mouth and screamed, though it was muffled, into his tortures mouth as it was bitten and blood filled his mouth. 

‘Mmm’ the raving lunatic hummed his own satisfaction, smacking lips together before diving forwards again to taste the seeming delight. Perhaps it was the only thing he would have to be subjected to that evening? It felt late, felt darker even though they remained secluded deep underground beneath a large menacing Manor House. Then again…No one else had been so merciless…why should a lunatic be? He could be there all night… ‘Blood, blood, blood’ The words had been taken up as some sort of mantra now. 

Creeak 

Creeak 

Creeeeak

He was beginning to shake his matted head from side to side, bringing up his own “no, no, no” mantra, scrapping the back of his skull across the jagged stone but he didn’t care, wasn’t even really aware he was doing so let alone that it would cause him much pain come morning but he was numb, his entire body had stopped feeling, or his brain had stopped acknowledging it as this Mad Death Eater slowly tortured him late into the night; this captive’s screams and cries, though he couldn’t register it through his haze, echoed through to all others residing down there, forcefully being ripped from him as he was abused over and over. 

Fingernails gauging marks into his bruised skin, drawing mounds of blood to pool across the flesh. Rusted nails ripped from the stone by those fingernails pressed into his legs, grinding through crucial bone and tissue. 

 

Shackles twisted around already torn flesh and drawing even more blood that was quickly and delightfully devoured as it poured out; as he bled out onto the cold bloodied concrete floor of the cell, crumpled into a heap, positioned in a foetal position until this man forcefully grabbed him, slammed him against the wall with his hands and spun him around, now bare arse directed his way. 

This was one of those moments that would never leave him, would haunt him forever in his vivid nightmares; 

Those claws digging into his flesh, the blood dribbling down his skin in multiple areas; his legs, his arms, his cheeks, his neck, his mouth, sliding down his thighs—those hands wrapped around his flaccid shaft, one hand to his throat, the sharp breaths of inhales and exhales, the hardness that was trying to keep his screams of pain and agony to himself. 

‘LOTUS, remember to keep him alive yeah?!’ 

Lotus, this seemingly the psychotic man’s name rammed him into the stone, smashing the captive’s face into the jagged stone as he chuckled maniacally again and yelled back his reply even as he continued to pound his prey into the wall, not a single feeling of remorse resonating from him or a hint of a conscious…though, clearly those that served a soulless monster already didn’t have one? Evidently already well on their way to losing their own black coloured souls. 

‘As long as you keep him alive!’ 

‘Kekekekekekeke!’ This Lotus character cackled uproariously, slicing a fingernail straight across one half of the “precious” captive’s throat and squeezing his flaccid appendage, trying to elicit some sort of sexual reaction forcefully. ‘BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD!’ Those fingers dripping with his own precious blood made this captive shudder uncontrollably as they touched him intimately and forced reactions from him that he didn’t want to make, eliciting sounds he definitely didn’t want to make; they echoed through the air and reached up undoubtedly to the mad man sitting on his throne that had had him captured and brought here on his day out with his friends. There wasn’t any guarantee that they hadn’t been taken too and weren’t being just as tortured, or worse…they’d been killed. THAT would definitely break him. 

\+ Ludicrous +

‘Haaah…’ chains hammered back into the stone either side above his head, arms strung back up, feet dragging on the bloodied stone, legs dangling at a slumped position—one embedded with ten rusted nails, one embedded with five, cloth-less, blindfolded, bleeding profusely from numerous open wounds, insides dripping red, sightless eyes doing the same; his head was lowered to his chest in defeat, in complete disregard for the large open slit across the left side of his throat; he was numb, mind still blank and hard-pressed to keep that wavering grip on his sanity after that ordeal with a psychotic Lotus Flower---it was the worst.   
Drip 

Drip 

Drip 

The sound of those wet drips from the ceiling, even feeling one fall atop his head did little move his head much from its lowered position. 

Skrrr

Skrrrrrr

Sckkkkrrr

Even the sounds of neighbouring prisoners scratching at the walls with their fingernails, at the floors, at the bars of their cells did little to move his head from his chest. Even the… 

Creeeak 

Creeeak 

Crreeeak of the old rusted bars moving and twisting within their stone confines, the barred door grating on the concrete did little more than move his head a centimetre before falling back down to his chest resignedly; he’d thought it was late and everyone had gone to bed and hadn’t had enough energy to torment him tonight, evidently not… it was with steps padding quietly across the floor, slipping every second step on his spilled blood and other bodily fluids that had him lifting his head back up and keeping it there. Normally they didn’t pad, they stomped or skidded in screaming it was their turn on the precious detainee. 

Moving his raven head, strands stuck to his dirtied and cut face, first one way and then the other, he paused midway between his second “this way and that way” when he heard no further noise except a light shaking of breath and a dulled erratic heart that thumped blood faster in anxiousness. Who was this? He frowned behind his blindfold and limp hair and only wished that he could see for the first time since he’d been held captive. 

When he didn’t move again and remained still, arms motionless and chains dead silent, was when he heard a shift of fabric, another shift of fabric and then something suddenly draped over his hunched shoulders, evidently covering his nakedness; they were inches away from him, on bent knee or at least crouching, their breath no less shaky at his chest, their heart no less erratic, if anything, it seemed to have sped up as they fell to knees. 

‘I’m sorry.’ 

 

It was so quiet that for several minutes with these being the only words spoken, it took him that long to realise that they had indeed been spoken at all, the only other sounds the usual and this young male’s nervous chocolate sweetened breath on his face, it certainly didn’t come from himself; they began to fiddle before him as if unsure what to say now, as if they’d been expecting him to say something? But he hadn’t spoken since his first agonised scream here, it wasn’t just because of trauma either, with every torment, someone damaged his vocal chords further. 

‘I’m…I’m trying…’ 

Trying? His eyebrows drew down again in puzzlement; this man was trying to do what? It took him a few minutes more to work out there was something oddly…familiar about this man’s voice, the pattern of his speech, the way he even smelled seemed to send off familial waves but his mind just couldn’t seemed to wrap around the familiar thread, couldn’t even fathom why there would be someone familiar to him here, in his cell, trying to apologise to him. It was too cloudy, to misted to see anything clearly. He was but a few minutes from consciousness it would seem. 

He breathed out a breath, the last thing he heard through a heavy fog was this; ‘I’ll get you out of here Potter, I will. I promise’ before the steps receded into the darkness and the barred door grated back into place against stone. 

He awoke to surprisingly gentle hands trying to pull him to his feet, one set manoeuvring his legs into a standing position, a wobbly one, and one set keeping him standing on those damaged legs, legs that may never walk properly again; it was strange, his captors, Death Eater’s never treated him this kindly; why were these people standing him up? He flexed stiff fingers cautiously and moved his hands an inch in the opposite direction—there was no sound of metal jangling from the act; they’d unchained him? Why? What was their purpose? 

He remained motionless in their gentle grips, assessing the situation as calmly as was possible in his sensitive state and as quickly as he was able. Their breaths were strained, their heart beats harshly pounding against their breast bones; they weren’t the same build, different heaviness in their steps they weren’t even the same height, their hands were different not just in width but in grip but they smelled similar, familiar—a mix of chocolate, some alcoholic beverage and a stinking air of desperation, hastiness and depression, as if they shared the same bad pasts or similar circumstances in some way… It was…odd, how much one could pick up when their very basic senses were taken away. 

They had begun to mutter between themselves almost too low for him to hear as he remained where he was, resolutely clawing his toes into the concrete; he didn’t care if the toenails kicked up and were ripped off by the stone—they’d already been torn off once by one Death Eater, he’d long since removed that pain; just because they had an air of familiarity didn’t mean in any way shape or form that they were to be trusted, in fact, it was probably the largest thing to watch for; people always turned on each other, he knew that better than anyone. It was human nature. Human’s couldn’t help themselves, they only cared about themselves.   
‘Come on! Move it!’ he was jerked and he shivered within their grasps, jerking himself away from them as he was growled out and dragged toward the cell door. The voice, that silky baritone, of how could he forget it? It was a voice of someone that had murdered his mentor, his Headmaster a year ago and fled. So this was where the stern traitor had fled after murdering his employer, his own mentor. He’d gone straight back to his former employ, the man with the horcrux’s, the black long dead soul and shrivelled, tainted heart; of course he’d go back to Voldemort. A push forwards to his scratched bare back made him jerk harshly out of their combined grasp—it used half his energy with just that one jerk and he fell sideways, his legs crumbling beneath him. He tried to muffle the scream that surfaced from his sore throat as he heard the snap of his wrist behind him, the crunch and crack of bone snapping completely under his weight; though he was sure he’d lost a fair bit of what little weight he’d had in the first place, and the twist of his legs before him—their steps hastened forward as he hit the concrete hard and hissed as he screamed into one of their hands. 

He tried desperately through the raw agony to scramble backwards away from them, backing himself as he flailed, pushing the one with his hand over his mouth away with a muttered, ‘fuck, Potter, Severus…they’ve carved…’ Harry ignored the hiss in reply as he backed himself into the corner, body trembling. 

‘You idiot, we’re trying to help you!’ One of them swore and it was then that he realised that the other one, was the one that had placed a blanket over him, the one that he still had only just barely hanging onto his shoulders—Son and heir of one of the most loyal and recently less sane followers of the Dark Lord; why on earth would he apologise? Why would he cover him and why would he be trying to help Harry Potter, forever enemy of their Pure-blooded Supremacy? It made no sense or were they trying to manipulate him, only to take him directly to the evil wizard to finally be slaughtered and strung up for the entire wizarding world to see? 

THAT would break the ENTIRE Wizarding World, at least…those that were sane. 

He shook his matted head vigorously, strands all stuck to his face with dried blood and sweat, body trembling as he hunched in the corner of the dirtied dungeon cell. His hands scrambled on the floor, slipping over fairly fresh blood and an open shackle that had only recently been around his ankle, tearing at precious skin and tissue. One of them swore again, heavily, booted feet tapping lightly and careful on the slippery stone, coming closer, hands outstretched to shake him, hurt him, haul his sore arse to his feet, it didn’t matter to him, mind once again numb to everything as he shook him and continued to shake him even as his body trembled uncontrollably. 

‘Potter we do not have the time for you to have a further mental breakdown, pull yourself together, what there is to pull together unless you’d rather die?!’ these four words were hissed into his face quite venomously as the man kneeled before him, hands just barely touching him anymore, wand in one hand, the tip just barely touching a new wound on his shoulder; he could feel the magical electricity coming from the wood. 

 

Another more spasm-y magical electricity fluctuated uncontrollably from the younger male’s wand behind the older man; it was obviously doing so in tandem with his emotions. ‘Control yourself Draco.’ ‘Well what will it be?’ He felt the second words were aimed at him—if he hadn’t already been blindfolded he would have closed his eyes in distress, as it was he sighed heartily, raven head falling down to his chest as he felt a hand hesitantly land on his un-bruised shoulder. ‘This might very well be the only chance you have to get out of this relatively sane and alive Potter.’ His voice was serious, but since when was Snape’s never? 

‘Take our help Potter, nobody else knows where you are.’ The blonde’s words weren’t a comfort, in fact, they caused Harry’s heart to pound harder against his ribcage and with some discomfort he pressed his relatively uninjured hand across it. No he supposed they wouldn’t, would they? But this…coming from an “Ex” Death Eater and a “Junior Death Eater” how could they possibly believe he could trust their word? They’d all been nemesis for years that wasn’t easily forgotten even in the face of suffering like this. ‘We are the only chance you have right now. And this is the only chance you will have for freedom.’ There was a heavy breath, almost close to a sob, ‘try and trust us?’ 

‘Draco.’ 

He swallowed thickly and pushed his head back against the wall, a small thud echoing around the dungeon cell, accompanied by two deep cringes as he let out a deep sigh. He understood perfectly what the blonde aristocrat meant but…that wasn’t a very easy thing to do. There was something just didn’t seem to add up here, how long had he been held captive here? Days, Weeks, Months? Why hadn’t anyone been searching? Were they? Why was now the only chance they had to try and break him out? And why were they trying? Weren’t they loyal followers to the Dark Lord? 

‘One minute Potter, we’ll give you 1 minute to decide whether or not you can trust us this once to get you out of here and back to the Order. That is all we can afford.’ He stood up then and both their feet took them to the other side of the cell, their bodies presumably leaning up against the creaking iron bars or rusting damp stone. 

One minute, he had one minute to decide his considerably dim future. He sighed, the only real sounds besides whimpers, screams and cries of agony; the men began to talk quietly to each other on the other-side, almost below Harry’s hyper-aware hearing again, but he caught up snippets. 

‘Do you think he’ll come with us? Trust us? We to get him out of here tonight Severus, we need too.’ It sounded very desperate even teary; odd considering it was coming from Draco Malfoy. 

‘Draco your guess is as good as my own at this minute, that is entirely up to Potter, but think, he should have enough sense still remaining to realise that the Dark Lord will only take this so long before he’ll execute Potter and I’ve been given orders to make some complex potion…that will mean it for Potter. I know we need to get him out of here Draco and it isn’t as if we have done anything to paint ourselves in an innocent light now is it?’ 

‘No…I suppose we haven’t…Can we really leave it up to him though? He looks…Severus…’ this time his light voice took on a tone of resignation and distress alongside the tears, jumping around letters as if he’d perhaps crossed his arms over his chest while nervously waiting for his school rival’s final answer, or scrubbed at the back of his head in an edgy gesture. 

‘Hnnn…’ He breathed. 

\+ Ludicrous + 

Fists clenched tight enough to reap blood, teeth clenched hard enough to break a fragile jaw; they walked slowly but with haste toward the end of the dungeon hallway—there seemed to be no guards on duty which was strange, the Malfoy heir leading the way toward the main house. There was a large set of stairs that were blocked on either side by thick concrete walls; with such a thin stairway upwards, it was slow going with Harry wedged in the middle, hands pressed to his sticky carved back, pressing the tattered blanket against the broken skin, as he whimpered with every agonising step forced upwards. 

It was taking everything he had just stay on his aching legs, knowing that if they really did escape, his legs would give out the moment they stepped foot on grass and he would never walk again, with each step he took, those rusted nails embedded themselves deeper into his bones. His heart hammered within his chest, not knowing where they were going, not being able to see anything, not knowing if he was just being manipulating-ly taken to slaughter, or really back to his friends at the Order. 

He was scared, frightened beyond belief that in the last couple of minutes as they finally reached the end of the stair, he’d had four close calls with loss of breath and consciousness. He was at that moment, almost hyperventilating as he was grabbed around his upper arms once again and hauled, more or less dragged down the hallway of a large foyer; he presumed it foyer anyway, it seemed rather huge and spacious; it’d be great if he could see but he knew that even taking off the blindfold that they’d not even tried to do, that he probably wouldn’t be able to see anyway, he could hazily remember hotness and searing pain touching them. 

‘Hah! Severus!’ It was a gasp and Harry gasped before a hand quickly covered his mouth as he was jerked backwards; footsteps were coming towards them. 

Tap 

Tap 

Tap 

 

 

They sounded like high-heeled boots, a woman? They continued to get closer and Harry started to breath quickly once again, his chest rising and falling with shuddering wheezing breaths through his nostrils, misting over the larger hand that covered his mouth. ‘Calm down’ he shook bodily at the harsh whisper in his ear, the fear was exponentially heightened when a person was blindfolded, he wished they knew that; he was a lot more scared then they were of the situation of a Death Eater coming towards them. 

Tap 

Tap 

Tap 

. . . Tap, tap, and tap. 

A large exhale of relief breathed across his entire head, ruffling the matted strands of raven as the high heels kept walking and turned around a corner, a person whistling tunelessly. ‘Let us hurry, we’re running out of time. They were not supposed to be patrolling yet.’ Pushing roughly, Harry groaned as he started to fall forwards, loss of blood catching up to his active, weak body; he only just managed to be caught by hands that were attached to arms just as strong as his used to be, before his capture and subsequent mistreatment. 

‘Watch it Potter.’ Malfoy; he wanted to retort to the degrading tone but his vocal chords damaged from so much screaming, so many hands, so many spells, merely groaned in frustration and clenched his fists, walking slowly in step with each man down the long hallway, one of each hand around his upper arms, toward the freedom Harry so yearned for but was anxious about receiving; he could feel his heart hammer within his chest, feel the anxiety drum through him now at the possibility, how close they were as they walked on with near misses of Death Eater’s that shouldn’t have been patrolling yet; security was tight for an apparent Raid Night. 

‘Down this way’ he felt a shift, like Malfoy was pointing in a certain direction with his spare hand as they rounded yet another corner. Several steps on the cold marbled floor and he was being directed to step up; he whimpered, not another staircase. He’d been hard-pressed to walk up the only other staircase coming up from the dungeons. 

Harry stalled on the second step, head tilted sideways as his hands braced him against the walls once again, barely feeling the body behind him bump into his basically bare back, the hands coming up as a quick afterthought to steady the weak body or Snape’s gruff voice hissing at him; ‘Potter! What are you doing, move!’ he shook his head, a stiff strand of hair flicking across the blindfold and making him slightly jump in reply; there was something wrong here, definitely. He pointed up and then spread his arms until the tips of his fingernails tapped the stonework with a grimace; asking silently why they were headed up and not out. 

‘What?’ he spat. ‘Potter we do not have time for this! Spit it out, you have a tongue don’t you?!’   
Harry laughed humourlessly, ‘hee…’ his smile was dead, his smirk of deep suffering as he spun around quickly on the hard step, it hurt like hell, hands coming up and with a brief sense that the man was directly before him, he pushed the larger man backwards until he was stumbling and he fell down a step, the “Oomph” to Harry was very gratifying, though he could not see either men’s face, he could picture their expressions of utter disbelief. Their mounting concern as he poked out his tongue mockingly, giving them a demonstration, and grabbed at his throat, tightly, making a choking sound. ‘Huuk!’ he coughed, there was a silent aftereffect and he nodded, teeth clenching at the pain from his legs; fabric shifted as Snape righted himself and Malfoy grabbed at his own arms, he assumed, with an un-nerved aura, and probably a look over Harry’s shoulder at Snape, radiating from him. 

They were probably wondering if they were too late; probably. 

‘Potter…’ his last name was nothing but a whisper of Malfoy’s breath on the air. Harry let go of his throat then, one arm falling down by his side, clenching around the blanket, the other again in the air to point upwards. Hesitance and confusion surrounded them for several minutes, several urgent, dearly unneeded minutes that could have been used escaping this hellhole, before he slammed his foot regrettably down on the marble stair, not just causing an agonised pain that came through in a whimper but a sickening snap as a bone snapped in one of his fractured feet; it jarred his entire body and he stood there as a shiver raced through him and a cold sweat enveloped him—he would not collapse until he was safe. 

‘Don’t…do that.’ The three words were a sigh into a palm, muffled through slender fingers seemingly trying to cover his face in weariness. ‘Draco, why are we heading upwards?’ 

‘We aren’t on the main floor…we need…up these stairs, take a left at the top and then a right, before we can even come close to the front let alone back doors; it’s another corridor all together to be within a meter of either doors in either direction. It isn’t that easy to get out of Malfoy Manor Professor, you should know that by now and the…Death Eater’s patrolling already isn’t helping!’ by the end of his tirade, which it had turned quickly into, the blonde was huffing and sounding close to ripping his own hair out. 

Sigh, ‘very well, let us keep moving forward. I hope you able and satisfied?’ He prodded Harry in the middle of his back that was at least more healed than the others and visible before he took in the slow nod of Harry’s head, he was uncertain he could, but he would, on unsteady legs and feet he put one up onto the next step, then the next, and the next, sure that both were ready to catch him if he should fall unconscious from the pain. 

The stairs; the steps were torture as they moved closer to the main part of the house but Harry was entirely thankful that they were no more than 10 marbled blocks, that he had only five more to go, that there weren’t any-more than these and that though incredibly dangerous, increasingly so with how slow they were moving because of him, they were missing the patrols circling the manor. They were all agog; their heart beats erratic and unsteady with nerves. 

 

‘Come on Potter, hold out, just a little more and we’ll be almost free. We need to hurry or we’ll miss our barely opened window; they’re steadily growing in number.’ He nodded as he was helped up the next step which he’d been having some trouble lifting his leg onto, a hand before him grabbed at his own and helped the process from there. He was curious how the blonde could be walking backwards and had not missed a single step or miscalculated one; was it because this was the prat’s house? Or was it that the prat was just that talented that he could walk backwards up-stairs?

‘Come on Potter, we just need to get onto the main floor, just one more step and we’re there, we’re at our next stage.’ They were clearly becoming more agitated because they were doing a right better job of actually getting them anywhere; Harry was barely using his legs at all as they helped him up the remaining steps. He heaved breaths and hissed in pain as his legs gave an untimely aggrieved shake and partial collapse. 

‘Not here!’ Snape hissed, grabbing him under the armpits and dragging him with moans leaving Harry’s lips, his eyes almost rolling back in his head toward the back doors. Harry felt they were heading in the opposite direction to the front doors anyway; when they were almost upon it, he was unceremoniously dropped and he cried out as a leg slipped beneath him. ‘Fuck!’ 

‘Indeed, how very correct you appear to be Severus; what do you think the two of you are doing, that is the Dark Lord’s property—Draco you know better! How dare you betray your Master and your Father, you’re Mother.’ 

‘Mother is dead.’ His voice was so deadpanned and yet there was a fire there. ‘Don’t you dare talk to me about my Mother…’ his voice was quiet, ‘YOU’RE THE ONE THAT GOT HER KILLED YOU GOOD FOR NOTHING MANIAC!’ then he screamed and Snape cursed, pulling his wand from his pocket. 

‘Go!’ he shouted, tossing something at the blonde. ‘I’ll be on your tail! Go!’ he pushed forcefully the blonde, Harry felt the shift in the air even as his brain began to shut down, next thing he knew, he could feel magic zipping past him and around him and he was being grabbed under his armpits, carried martial-style and he had the feeling he was being squeezed through a small funnel. 

He fell unconscious then, never feeling the Portkey depositing them on the hard steps of the Order’s Headquarters or the blonde half falling atop him as he collapsed fist banging at the bottom of the door as he leaned over Harry’s crumpled body, he didn’t hear the screams as the door flew open, didn’t hear the cries, the curses or the slam of the door, he didn’t even feel as people carefully brought him inside and laid him down on Sirius bed and he certainly didn’t feel or hear Madam Pomfrey and her spells. 

 

\+ Ludicrous + 

The scream echoed through the house as he awoke, bringing with his uncertainty and confusion several sets of feet and crowing women and loud men. He sat heaving against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling, or well, the blindfold, he was sure there would have been a ceiling though. 

‘Harry!’ 

‘Mate!’ 

‘Harry!’ 

‘Harry!’ 

‘Goodness, Harry!’ 

‘Cub!’ 

‘It’s alright Mister Potter, everything’s okay!’ 

Harry stopped screaming, hiccupping, he flinched at the shouts and the spell that immediately flew over him, he kept cringing, agonised limbs trembling as it assaulted his senses, at least until he was saved by someone barging their way into the room and screeching at him, ‘It’s alright Potter, you’re at headquarters!’ and then at Poppy Pomfrey. 

‘What the hell are you serious!? Potter’s been held captive for 5 months, 5 months, and you’ve already assaulted him with spells whilst unconscious right? While I was unable, being questioned under Veriteserum glued to a chair downstairs until Severus arrived and he was the one being rigorously questioned—have some respect?’ his voice steadily went back to a normal tone as he questioned. ‘Don’t have respect for us, that’s fine, the ones that saved his life, but have some respect for him, the one scarred and…’ 

‘Draco.’ 

Harry jumped at the added voice, a warning, like so many other one worded names, as if Snape was trying to tell Malfoy to shut up. 

‘…Don’t just shoot off spells like that after you rush up hear at his screaming!’ It rose again and Harry cowered into the bed, into the pillow then he shifted against the scratchy sheets, turning his head toward the voice and the silence that replied it; he made a noise, a deep throated noise and hoped perhaps it was the one that he was aiming for, a reprimanding tone, noise, sound whatever as long as it came across the way he wanted—he understood that spells would have been required, given the state of him, he had no denials of how bad a state he was in, especially considering who he was apparently in the care of now.   
There was just one thing that concerned him, one thing that would not leave his mind, hadn’t since Malfoy had said it, since he’d been there in that basement, dungeon, cellar, whatever under Malfoy Manor—why hadn’t they found him? Why hadn’t they been searching for him, surely it had been all too obvious where he’d been taken, and that he’d been taken by the Dark Lord? Why was it that it was these two, Malfoy and Snape, which had found him instead? 

‘It’s alright now Potter, you’re with your friends. You’re safe now.’ He sounded…relieved. Harry tried to push himself up the mattress—a tremendous and excruciating effort considering he could still feel the steel rods in his legs and his wrists were fractioned and broken, all the while with his head tilted in the direction of the prat’s voice. He brought his least pain-filled arm up, flinching slightly, to press his fingers—which appeared to be bandaged, against the blindfold only to rear back from his fingertips when it appeared that it was no longer a piece of fabric but a bandage. He hadn’t just been spelled whilst unconscious, he’d been attended too but then…he swallowed and licked his lips, reverently touching the course fabric. ‘Hnnn’ he breathed unsteadily, blinking behind the material sightlessly. 

How did one that couldn’t speak, he moved his fingers downward, skirting across the bandage that encircled his throat then went lower, slowly spreading his aching fingers across his mangled skin, and couldn’t see, ask them why his legs were still embedded with rods, why his wrists were still damaged when everything else was covered in bandages? 

‘I’m sure Potter has questions.’ Harry jerked, his fingers splayed across his bandaged chest. ‘Do you not?’ He was sure that were he able to see, he’d see the bemused look travel across the man’s face as he gave Harry an opportunity—perhaps he’d read Harry’s mind without seeing his eyes? Was that possible? He screwed up his face in confusion before slowly nodding his head once, tongue licking across his bottom lip. ‘Then try and ask away.’ 

His tongue went across the lip once more with a swallow of saliva, how on earth was he supposed to do that? He had no eyesight to convey, he had no voice to speak and he didn’t feel he had the magic to show it. He lowered his head in resignation. ‘Potter try’ his raven head lifted and his eyes flickered around behind the bandage. How? 

‘Try.’ He said again, this time with more emphasis, almost as if it were a beg for him to do so. Bruised, agonised, feeling defeated in everything with, he was sure, at least part of his soul depleted, his sanity in tatters, his hope, he sat there for minutes with everyone watching him, trying to figure out how he could ask his questions to the Order of the Phoenix, to his friends. 

Then it came to him, he had no idea what it was, but he held out his arms—it was painful, it was excruciating but he held them up and angled them where he believed everyone to be; one half on his left inside the room, fingers twitching to comfort him, the others just inside the doorframe, wondering if he was broken more than others, and closed his lids behind the bandage, dug his teeth into his bottom lip enough to draw red blood and let it out. 

He felt it resound, he felt it shake them, he felt himself shiver against the pillow at it; he heard them breathing heavily as they all heard him scream “WHY?!” into them, into their very cores.  
‘What?’ One of them breathed. 

‘What was that?!’ Another shouted. 

Harry’s unsteady breath rattled through his throat as he felt his fingertips tingle with it, with the magic, the powerful broken magic. ‘Me.’ He said, a surge of power releasing from his fingertips and inciting another jumping reaction around him. ‘It was me.’ He felt that he was whispering even though the voice was a mere echo of his own, resonating throughout them. 

‘Potter that was some powerful magic…’ 

‘…Considering you haven’t been able to use magic for months…’ 

Harry shook his head as he lowered his hands to the mattress, fingertips still tingling. 

‘I did not think you would be able Potter, I assumed you’d try something Muggle but this was unexpectedly interesting—try again.’ Harry heaved a breath at Snape’s words and twitched his fingers against the mattress sheet. 

‘Why, why were they the ones to find me? Why were they the ones that risked their lives to protect mine? Where were all of you? What were you doing? Why did you two take so long to rescue me?’ 

‘Ah…’ 

Harry waited for the questions and their meaning to sink in. 

‘Potter it isn’t every day that a massive raid takes place, we hadn’t had enough time to get away from the others let alone time enough to get you out during a mini raid…It was hard enough to get you out this time, Severus is lucky to still be alive.’ The footsteps that accompanied the words drew near and Harry jerked when they stopped beside the bed, the voice speaking down to him, almost whispering at him, ‘I’m lucky to even be alive and standing here listening to your echoing voice in my core Potter—If it weren’t for Severus I would have been killed months ago and my Father would have gotten rid of me before my Mother who wasn’t so lucky. He kept us both alive and given that…’ 

Harry tilted his head, silent. 

There was a sound of saliva being spread across dry lips; Harry prompted, ‘Given what?’ 

‘Draco.’ 

 

‘Snape, shut up. DRACO?’ Harry questioned, using the young male’s first name only the second time in his life. Whatever the reason that Snape kept warning Draco, Harry wanted to know and he wanted to know now before he questioned his friends and the Order for their lack of saving. He heard a swallow above him. 

‘They poisoned you, did you know that?’ 

Harry tilted his head in the opposite direction, feeling his face contort painfully in a disbelieving reaction. ‘Really..? Draco…Do I look like I care whether they poisoned me?’ He held up his arms in an obvious gesture. ‘I think they did a lot of damage and frankly I stopped caring what they were doing to me the first night I was there.’ He tilted his head back in the opposite direction, pulling the bandage taught around his throat, ‘Just because you try and warn Draco when he speaks of something you think he shouldn’t doesn’t mean that I don’t have an idea of what he’s about to say so…Draco…’ He waited again patiently, teeth biting into his tongue. 

‘Do you believe me broken?’ He questioned. ‘Do you believe me incapable?’ ‘Do you believe my sanity in tatters?’ ‘What do you believe Draco?’ He heard the intake of breath and stayed silent for several minutes, fingers wanning in their tingling. 

‘I believe…you’re…hurt.’ Harry’s breath at this was a hissing laugh. Fine, fine he thought, Malfoy didn’t have to tell him then, not now, but he will eventually tell him. 

‘Where were all of you, what were you doing?’ He moved his head to his lap and pressed his fingers there, into his thighs. ‘Why did Snape and Malfoy save me?’ 

‘It wasn’t easy finding you Harry.’ 

‘Is that so? WHY?!’ It was a shout inside them, banging off the walls of their cores and minds. He felt inexplicitly angry about this, sure, pain currently coursing through his veins probably wasn’t helping that but to be rescued by Ex Death Eater’s wasn’t something that should have happened, he should have been rescued by the Order and he should have been rescued months ago; five months, five months was a long time to be “Missing”. ‘You at least knew that, Vol...Vol…that the Dark Lord had taken me…?’ He shuddered as he stuttered. 

He knew the facial reactions that question would have ranged in the bewildered and shocked, and concerned, considering he never said “Dark Lord” around his friends or the Order but he couldn’t constrain himself from shivering, he’d been that man’s toy for months, he just couldn’t make himself say it. ‘Harry you don’t believe we weren’t searching for you…do you? We’ve been frantic!’

‘You’ve no idea what we’ve been through mate, wondering if you were…’ 

 

Harry bit into his tongue hard enough to make it bleed a great deal, blood slipping out the corner of his lips—when he opened it with a hissing breath, head lifting up and moving in a rush to face his best friend’s voices, they gasped but he ignored this, biting down harder, close to biting it off entirely in anger. ‘No idea? No idea? I have no idea? YOU have no idea!’ 

He felt gratified when he felt them shiver and jump at his echoing voice. ‘YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I’VE BEEN THROUGH. I’VE BEEN TORTURED, SCARRED FOR LIFE, GIVEN REAL-LIFE NIGHTMARES, I SPENT WEEKS TRYING NOT TO IMAGE THAT YOU WERE GOING THROUGH SOMETHING SIMILAR or that you were dead, THEN I STOPPED FEELING, I STOPPED THINKING, I STOPPED CARING THAT THEY WERE SLOWLY KILLING ME! I AM BROKEN!!’ He started to really scream then, kicking and screaming, falling back down to the mattress, pillow flying from the bed as he throw it at them—he was in agonising pain but he didn’t care. 

‘Potter…’ He ignored Malfoy’s upset whisper.

‘AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!’ 

‘Oh really’ Snape’s voice was derogatory. ‘Potter you’re only hurting yourself, calm down.’ The footsteps were heavy, his boots still on his feet obviously, as they fell before the bed and heavy hands dropped onto his chest first, then his arms and then others fell to his legs in a gentler fashion, though no less strong; it was hard to move with them anchoring him but he continued to scream into their ears, into their souls. ‘POTTER STOP!’ 

‘AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!’ 

‘He’s bleeding…’ 

‘Oh my god…’ 

‘…Cub…’ 

‘Severus, oh my god…Severus his legs..!’ 

‘Oh for…POTTER FOR MERLIN’S SAKE, STOP!’ He pushed down on the limbs until they were locked to the mattress and Harry’s heaving, ragged breaths stopped mid-scream. He heaved, hiccupping as tears and blood dropped from the bandage around his eyes. ‘For fuck sake, Potter, you aren’t broken and of course they know, don’t be a moron. If you throw a tantrum like this one then you may just break yourself—I can brew potions for these Potter, it will take months but you may just be able to use these limbs again, if you never do this again.’ He was heaving right alongside Harry as finally he let the limbs go. ‘First however you will these rods taken out and the only one capable of doing that and mending the bones in your wrists, is Madam Pomfrey so the rest, un-needed, will retire to downstairs.’ He stepped back and Harry started to shiver. ‘She won’t hurt you Potter.’   
Harry wasn’t so sure about that but the tingling had stopped whilst he was screaming and he didn’t feel energised enough to bring it back. He lay there on the soaking mattress, limbs at odd angles and dripping with blood, awaiting Madam Pomfrey’s spells and hands as they left, shutting the door behind them with a creak. 

\+ Ludicrous + 

‘AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAHAHAHAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH’ 

‘AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAHAHAHAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH’ 

‘Fuck!’ Hands covered ears with haste as an echoing scream resounded around the house and through themselves; Potter was resonating his pain to them, whether consciously or…

‘Someone help!’ 

…Not. 

‘AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAHAHAHAH’ 

‘AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAHAHAHAH’ 

‘POTTER!’ Harry was jerked out of his scream with the strong voice and hands falling onto his raw skin—he tried to jerk away from the fingers but they pressed into his skin as others fell atop his recently rod-littered limbs, forcing them to stop twitching and his body to stop arching off the bed in agony. ‘CALM DOWN!’ He heaved, chest rising and falling in hiccups and stuttering breaths, trying to pin the voice to the person. ‘POTTER STOP’ the hands pressed deeply into his chest, pressing straight over the thumping heart beneath. 

‘YOU ARE GOING TO GIVE YOURSELF A SEISURE IF NOT A PANIC ATTACK, you are fine Potter, Harry you are at Headquarters’. Calm down now.’ The voice steadily dropped to a low murmur, almost entirely whispered into his ear—he shivered and the limbs stopped twitching so much, moving to a slow every now and then jerk of nerves. 

‘Thank you Severus.’ Harry shuddered at the breath. 

‘I do not believe you needed to thank me for anything Madam Pomfrey.’ 

‘He heard you didn’t he?’ 

‘Perhaps but I don’t believe Potter would calm down on my voice alone. Why was he screaming anyway, he knows we aren’t here to hurt him, he should know he’s safe here.’ He felt this was directed at him and not at the Hogwarts Nurse so shifted as the hands removed themselves and clung to the sheet, raven hair spreading across the pillow as he shook it. ‘You should not be screaming yourself awake Potter, this is the second time.’ 

‘It’s to be expected Severus…’ 

‘No, it is not.’ He could feel the scowl directed down to him and he scowled through the bloodied bandage around his face, clinging onto the sheet further. Trying to keep himself calm and not scream at him for being an arsehole, it wasn’t expected? He’d just been through a living hell and Madam Pomfrey had just taken out the rods and laced the open wounds with serums and Skel-o-grow; he thought that required screaming even been “apparently” unconscious. 

 

 

 

Harry James Potter. 

 

 

 

‘Madam Pomfrey did some stuff while you were asleep; I got up here just as she was finishing mending your legs.’ Harry’s head whipped around to the voice, almost like a spooked owl. The blonde seemed hesitant and Harry opened his mouth, expressing that he wished to say something even though he knew that he couldn’t. There was a further few seconds of silence, ‘Would you rather Madam Pomfrey explained or…I?’ 

Harry scowled, lowered his head then thinking lifted his hands up while licking his lips and, forming the word on a soundless breath, he lifted his hands up to make a “D”. 

Malfoy chuckled uncertainly, ‘Severus is here too, he just downstairs.’ 

Harry shook his head slowly. 

 

‘Very well Potter…Uh…Your legs no longer have…nails and have had the bones vanished and regrown entirely whilst you were unconscious as far as I know, but I don’t think…’ there was a pause ‘Pomfrey motioned you won’t able to walk on them anytime soon so you’re pretty bed-ridden Potter, even then you might be only able to walk with help from something; like a walking stick…I suppose…’ he paused again ‘She also realigned the bones in your wrists, ankles and feet so those are mending as we speak…’ 

Harry sat with his hands clenching and unclenching in the sheet. 

‘No one knows if you’ll be able to see or speak again…The bandages are for the healing process but we don’t know what that will be…they’re…’ he swallowed audibly. 

Harry immediately started to take the bandage off with a choked noise. 

‘Potter!’ He immediately rushed forward and had his hands over Harry’s; before he realised it, Potter was flinching away from him, he was thrown back toward the door and the bandage had followed him with a scream. ‘Potter…’ he whispered. 

Harry felt across his face, he was blinking every few milliseconds but no matter how many times he blinked nothing came into focus; in fact, he saw nothing, it was black. 

‘Harry…’


End file.
